The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 25 - Gossip [Part 2]

"I wish you could teach me," Amanda sighed, running a hand through her flaxen hair. "Everyone in my family is dreadful with numbers. It's quite embarrassing. But, I guess that is why we have to hire well…"

"Oh, please teach me!" chimed another girl, only to earn a pair of death glares from Fleur and Amanda.

Seraphina offered a playful shrug. "If I teach every last one of you, where will I find the time for my own assignments?" she teased, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Besides, we must keep Mistress de Alalucia employed somehow!"

The gentle laughter that swept through the group rang with that polished, dainty quality.

Cordelia de Aserac, a petite, flame-haired thing from a dukedom bordering the Grass Sea, suddenly groaned, shaking her head. Her pigtailed hair swished in sympathetic frustration.

"Urrggh! I just remembered we have to finish everything before the First-Year Ball. Curses upon the teachers and their insufferable assignments!" she grumbled.

Fleur, like a doting mother, reached over to pat Cordelia's head as if to soothe a child. The young redhead squirmed away indignantly. "Stop that!" she half-yelled, cheeks aflame.

"Well, there's also the daily practice that Bellfrost assigned," Seraphina reminded them, her green eyes glinting with renewed seriousness.

"That… I'm actually looking forward to," Fleur admitted quietly. "My father's lands suffer droughts sometimes. Mastering Water could truly help him…"

"Oh, you could even run off and join one of those caravans heading south across the Al-Lazar deserts!" Amanda added with an irreverent grin, casting a mischievous look around the group.

Collective gasps, more for show than any real horror, rippled through the circle. Fleur's face went beet red.

"Why, I could never," she insisted, completely missing the joke. "It's not proper for someone of my station. And I—I wouldn't even know how to pack for such a journey!"

Amanda just rolled her eyes and laughed. "The prim and proper Fleur, gallivanting off for a life of adventure. It's too scandalous even to imagine!"

She leaned closer, voice lowering. "Anyway, about that ball—did you get a new dress? Your last one was two whole seasons out of fashion!"

Fleur groaned, tugging at one of her neat brown braids. "I actually forgot all about the ball, and I have nothing ready. It's impossible to have something made."

Amanda's eyes lit up triumphantly. "Then it's a good thing I had one set aside for you," she declared. "But I warn you—don't you dare ask one of my brothers to be your escort. They're far beneath your station," she added in a theatrical whisper.

"I… I hadn't planned on it," Fleur stammered, looking mortified. "I might not even go if I can't dance properly. I'll make an absolute fool of myself. Maybe I'll just take a chaperone, or not go at all…"

"Oh, you have to go!" Amanda declared, scandalized. "Not attending would be unthinkable."

As the chattering and preening continued, Seraphina seized the moment to steer the conversation. Her gaze swept the corridor, as though ensuring no one else listened in.

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"Speaking of different stations," she began, voice silken, "tell me, what do you know of that commoner girl? The silver-haired one. I heard rumors that she's an orphan from the slums. What was her name again?"

"She's called Este Lize," Cordelia offered quickly. "She's in Camellia, I think."

A catlike satisfaction gleamed in Seraphina's eyes. Camellia… so she was in that class. She nodded politely, filing the information away.

Cordelia shrugged. "Some of the people of Meridian say she's a Living Saint or something. That's the rumor I heard."

"A Living Saint?" Amanda repeated, eyebrows arching high. "Really?"

They all glanced at one another, half-curious, half-incredulous.

"Well, if she truly were one, she would have the 'Healing Hands,' wouldn't she?" Seraphina purred, letting the question hang in the air. "Isn't that one of the prerequisites for sainthood?"

Fleur pursed her lips. "I'm not sure. Would anyone here really know?"

"And just exactly… what would be the difference between that and well the healing that some adventurers do… or like from Alchemical concoctions?" chimed in Amanda. "Not that I would know anything about adventurers or their ilk of course."

Cordelia nodded thoughtfully. "Shaykh Hassan, back home, says Saints channel the Covenant—a holy light of redemption that mends reality itself. Healing spells or Alchemy are different. Those just accelerate the body's natural healing, albeit empowered with Mana. A Saint's power 'corrects' what's wrong in the world."

"Fascinating," Seraphina commented softly, allowing a faint, knowing smile to linger. "Perhaps someone should find out if there's any truth to this rumor. After all, a false Saint would be…" she paused meaningfully, "…blasphemous."

Cordelia, rather direct by nature, tugged her sleeves with a grim nod. "Yes, Seraphina, that would be a terrible offense against the Goddess."

Was this girl on the spectrum? the young noblewoman asked herself. She sounded like one of those autistic dolts who were so proud of their little disabilities.

Seraphina felt a secret satisfaction. This conversation was unfolding exactly as she wanted, and she made sure her expression remained composed. Still, she couldn't appear too invested. Let the rumor grow its own wings, free from any suspicion that she, Seraphina, was behind it.

Suddenly, Michelié—round-faced and perpetually munching on sugared sweets—popped into the group. "Ooooh, do tell, do tell. I heard something about Este Lize eyeing the Crown Prince, but I need the full story!" She giggled as she offered the bag of candy around.

A ripple of delighted shock went through the other girls. The Crown Prince was a subject of countless daydreams and hushed speculations. Seraphina shook her head politely, refusing the sweets. Michelié shrugged, happily popping another candy into her mouth.

"That simply will not do, will it, Seraphina, darling?" Michelié teased, shooting a sly wink. "I mean, an upstart from the slums chasing after the Crown Prince. I can't imagine you'd let that stand…"

Seraphina arched a brow, all poise and composure. Sometimes she couldn't tell if Michelié was an ally in the gossip game or a lurking enemy, waiting for the right moment to twist a rumor.

"Let us not jump to conclusions," she responded with pointed calm. "I doubt she's the one claiming to actually be a Living Saint."

"Oh, I have to tell some of the others!" Michelié clapped her hands, eyes shining with mischief. "Just imagine what Rashana would say! Getting a reaction from her about such things is always such good fun."

Seraphina put on an expression of mock seriousness. "You should be careful baiting Rashana, Michelié. Even the patient among us have their limits."

Michelié just laughed and offered the candy tin again to a few girls who had passed on the first round. Meanwhile, Seraphina watched, a calculating gleam in her green eyes. She needed the rumor of this mysterious 'Living Saint' to drift through the Academy halls, yet remain untraceable to herself. In the cutthroat world of privileged youths, a quiet, well-placed whisper could accomplish far more than any open declaration.

Bidding them all good day, she curtsied to the giggling cluster. Miriam quietly fell in behind her as she drifted away down the corridor with a measured grace to regroup with the rest of her subordinates. Behind her, gossip bubbled like a fresh spring, only too eager to spread its waters wherever it could find purchase. Seraphina smiled. Let them chatter. Let them speculate. By the time the First-Year Ball arrived, she would know exactly where to strike.